


Double Jeopardy

by left_to_write



Series: Living in Paradise [1]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_to_write/pseuds/left_to_write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team are called out to attend the scene of an attack on their 'Chief' at a holiday villa, but are things really what they seem? Appearances, after all, can be deceptive....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another variation on the theme of Series 3 denial - it is AU, of course, and differs from the TV version. Please do not be alarmed by the opening lines of this story - I am very much a Richard Poole (and Camille) fan!

 

Saint Marie

 

The sight before them was the worst they had ever witnessed. Not because it was the most gruesome - it definitely wasn't, for they had seen worse - but because their beloved 'Chief' lay on a sun lounger with something sticking out of his chest. Fidel and Dwayne forced their professional selves to take charge, although the shock was terrible. Camille, on the other hand, the one who knew Richard Poole best of all, could barely see straight for the tears that poured from her eyes, and could barely think straight for the horror and (misplaced) guilt she felt.

_Why did I let him go on his own?! Why was he so evasive about things? What the hell actually happened here?!_

The paramedics whisked the body away quickly, as soon as photographs were taken of the 'victim'. The Commissioner was informed and soon phone calls to relatives back in the UK would have to be made, and arrangements made to return their 'loved one' back to them.

 _But he was_ my _loved one,_ thought Camille. _I loved him more than anyone else did, and because for once I respected his privacy, he's gone from me forever._

Taking herself off to Richard's beach house, she threw herself onto his bed and howled with primal grief.

As she lay on his bed, hugging his pillow and crying into it, she recalled the conversation she'd had with him just that morning:

 

"Richard, you know I'd be happy to drive you up to the house for the party," she had offered.

"Thanks, Camille, but I'm quite alright getting a taxi there. You should keep the Defender at the station for official business. I'll only be a couple of hours, all being well. I do hate these reunion things."

"Then why are you going?? Surely you don't have to?" Camille couldn't understand why Richard would even put himself through a social experience he didn't like. After all, he'd never done it before, to her knowledge.

 Richard sighed. "It's hard to explain, but on this occasion I sort of have to go. I'm sorry I can't be more... forthcoming about it. It's just something I have to do. Please try to understand."

"So, I can't give you a lift?" Camille had tried one last time.

Smiling at her, Richard had tenderly touched her chin and said, "Not this time. I'll see you later, okay?"

And that had been the end of that.

 

 

London, three days earlier

 

Two middle aged men were sitting at a table in a London restaurant having a quiet conversation well away from other diners.

"Did you see the photo I sent you of my man, Davis?" asked one of them.

"Yes, of course," replied the other. "Remarkable. What are you proposing to do about it?"

"Well, he's all for going out there and 'doing the business', as he put it. He's inclined to be a bit gung-ho, and I tried to impress on him the possible hazards and pitfalls of such actions, but he won't be deterred. So, I've given him clearance to proceed. He's had a briefing and been in contact with your man out there, so I guess he's as ready as he ever will be."

"But three days' notice is not a lot, is it, Terry?"

"No, Roy, but remember he's been on stand-by for eight or nine months already, anyway. This is the final run up, that's all."

"Do you think he - Davis - will pass the test out there?"

"Well, time will tell, won't it? But according to Davis,  _your_ man - although somewhat reluctant - thinks he (Davis) will manage. He's briefed him on what to say, etc." 

"Okay, well all I can say is, 'good luck'."

"Thanks. Let's drink to  a successful Caribbean operation."

 

London, present day

 

"What the bloody hell happened, Terry?!" asked his incredulous and seriously anxious friend.

"It all went pear-shaped, that's what! Shit, I was afraid something bad would happen, although I wasn't expecting it to pan out quite like this."

"I hear he got stabbed with an ice pick, of all things. Is he dead?"

"Critical, last I heard, but for all I know he may have died in the last couple of hours. I'm going to phone again as soon as we get off the line."

"Why did it happen like that? I mean, at a private villa, for God's sake?"

"Ironic, isn't it? Apparently, something to do with your man's private life, of all things. Who'd have thought that he would have known one of those people so well, even if from way back when? But Davis was sure he could handle the situation."

"What's that got to do with your operations out there, though?"

"Nothing directly. It was one of life's ridiculous coincidences - well, I should say, tragic coincidences. We've been watching that couple, the Moores, for years. James Moore is a nasty piece of work; I wouldn't be at all surprised if he had something to do with it."

"Well, you know we're sending one of our other Inspectors, a Humphrey Goodman, out to investigate and, hopefully, solve it. Is that okay - I don't want the Met stepping on your toes, after all."

"No, it's okay. Carry on with your own official investigation; that way we can do ours behind the scenes and it will be less noticeable."

 

 

Saint Marie

 

A sombre and much deflated team of Camille, Dwayne and Fidel were back at their desks at the Honore Police Station, trying to make sense of the nonsensical attack on their beloved Chief, Richard Poole, when the Commissioner, Selwyn Patterson, strode in and announced that a new Metropolitan Police Inspector, Humphrey Goodman, had been assigned to the case. The team were less than impressed, but the lads were civil and did their official duty in welcoming D.I. Goodman. Camille walked away in disgust.

Eventually, however, she began to work with the new Inspector and had some hope that the unspeakable crime would be solved by him.

 

It was the following week when, after the swift solution of Richard's 'murder' by Humphrey, her mobile phone rang. It was the Commissioner. Surprised that he should be ringing her on her private line and not at her desk at work, she nevertheless spoke with the expected cordiality and courtesy towards her boss.

"Sir? How can I help you?"

"Camille, please forgive the intrusion on your personal phone line, but what I have to say to you is strictly private for now. It is concerning the Inspector Poole murder case, and it is for your ears only at the moment."

Camille's heart beat a little faster. _Has he got some helpful news that we know nothing about?_

"Of course, Sir. Well, as you know, I'll do anything you need to help with Richard's - I mean, the Inspector's - um... case."

"Good, good. Can you possibly meet me at the ferry terminal tomorrow morning at nine o'clock? There is someone on Guadeloupe whom I would like you to meet. He is very pertinent to this case, and has vital information. And, as I said previously, it is most important that we keep this under our hats for now. Can you do that, Sergeant Bordey?" The Commissioner put on his most official voice, yet he was gentle in his delivery.

"Alright, Sir. I can do that. Will Inspector Goodman be alright about it?"

"Yes, don't worry about him. It won't take up too much time, and you'll be back at the station either later tomorrow or the next day. I'll let him know that you were needed for the day, no problem."

"Okay, Sir. Well, I guess I will see you at the ferry tomorrow morning, then?"

"Yes, indeed. See you then." And the Commissioner rang off and left Camille staring at her phone in considerable bewilderment.

_What in the world is going on? Will it help Richard, even posthumously?_

 

True to his word, the Commissioner was waiting for Camille at the ferry terminal the next day, and they made the 45 minute trip to Guadeloupe. After disembarking, they got into a taxi and headed for a hotel a bit further inland, although not too far.

"Thank you for coming here, Camille. I know it's been a horrendous week, but in a few minutes I think you'll find that this little journey has been worthwhile."

Camille could only smile politely (although she had thought she'd lost the ability to ever smile again the previous week). "Yes, Sir. Thank you," she answered, rather lamely.

Approximately three minutes later, the taxi pulled up to the hotel and she followed the Commissioner into the Reception area. He asked the clerk at the desk to ring a particular room, had a brief conversation with its occupant, and shortly afterwards a man came down the lift and approached them. He was about 5'9" tall, with short brown hair and striking green eyes.

Staring at him with complete incredulity, Camille thought she would pass out. For it was the unmistakable figure of Richard Poole, in the flesh, alive and very obviously well.

 

The greeting burst from her. "Oh my God, Richard, is it really you?!" she gasped.

"Yes, Camille," he replied, catching her wrists. "I'm so sorry we had to put you through that, but no one expected things to turn out the way they did," he replied.

"But... we saw you... on that awful lounger thing. You looked... _dead._ " Her words were coming out with a choking sound as her emotions threatened to engulf her.

"No, I'm afraid what you saw was not quite what you thought," he said, somewhat enigmatically.

Camille turned to look at the Commissioner with an expression of utter confusion. "I don't understand," she said.

"The person you saw was not Inspector Poole," Patterson explained softly.

"What?! But... it looked like you, Richard!" insisted Camille, as she turned back to look at the latter. "If it wasn't you, then who was it?!" she demanded.

"His name is Peter Davis; he's with the Security Services in the UK, namely MI5," Richard answered.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

"Let's all sit down and have a cup of tea or coffee in the dining room," suggested Commissioner Patterson. "They should be serving elevenses soon, I hope. Then we can take Sergeant Bordey into our confidence."

Camille looked puzzled. "'Elevenses', Sir?" she asked.

Richard smiled. "Yes, that's what they traditionally called the late morning tea or coffee break in Britain, because people could have a 10-20 minute break from work at about 11 o'clock."

"But Guadeloupe is French..." Camille started to protest, but Richard nudged her elbow and gave her a look that said, "Now who's being pedantic?"

Choosing a table as far from earshot of any other guests as possible, the Commissioner invited Richard to explain what he knew to Camille. Richard was doubly grateful for the opportunity because it meant that Patterson did not appear to be attaching any blame for the terrible debacle to Richard himself.

"It all started with MI5 investigating James Moore some years ago, and totally unbeknownst to either myself or even my then boss at the Met, Chief Inspector Roy Halliwell," Richard began.

Camille frowned. "That name sounds vaguely familiar," she said.

Richard smiled. "You've got a good memory. Yes, his name cropped up on our very first case together, the one in which the bride was murdered on her wedding day," he answered, clearly impressed with Camille's powers of recollection.

"Oh yes, that's right. And you asked me at first to check something with D.C.I. Halliwell, but Fidel ended up....  Oh, sorry; you were saying, Sir?"

Richard smiled again and raised his eyebrows at both Camille's reference to that little incident where she had, for the second time in their working relationship (after the first 'I could almost certainly beat you in a fist fight' lecture) displayed her professional rebelliousness towards him, and also at her current demonstration of respect in her use of his formal title.

He assumed, with some amusement, that the latter was probably for the Commissioner's benefit.

"Well, D.C.I. Halliwell also happens to be an old pal of a chap called Terence Slater at MI5, and one day Slater told Roy that one of his men, an agent named Peter Davis, looked a lot like me. Apparently, he was looking at a group photo of me and my team on the wall in Halliwell's office, and commented on the resemblance.

"Eventually, when MI5 learned that the Moores were coming out to the Caribbean, he sent a photo of Davis to Halliwell for his opinion, and a plot was hatched to have Davis impersonate me in order to try and get close to James Moore. Well, to be fair to my old boss, it was really an MI5 decision. Roy Halliwell only had to confirm that Davis did indeed look like me.

"Anyway, the Security Services were hoping to learn as much as possible about James's Caribbean activities, eg his little tax haven in the Cayman Islands where he was probably also laundering money."

"Why did they get a 'double' to do it? Wasn't that too risky from their point of view? He might have been spotted straight away," suggested Camille.

"Well, as a mere police detective and not a 'spook', I would not have been qualified for an MI5 job in the first place. And, it had been 20 years since the Cambridge friends had last seen me, so it was assumed that an allowance could be made for that. After all, most people don't look _exactly_ the same after two decades, and it would be unlikely to be questioned too closely by people who hadn't had any contact in the interim."

Richard took a deep breath at this point and winced a bit as he remembered a painful episode from his past - not to mention the awful consequences of it in the present.

"Remember how readily most of them accepted Helen as Sasha? Unfortunately, though, no one had taken into account just how well _I_ had known her..."

"Sasha Moore," said Camille quietly. Humphrey's 'solving' of the case (with the help of Richard's own clues, of course) had revealed a deeply personal aspect of Richard's Cambridge days.

"Yes, of course, for a moment I forgot that everyone would know by now," Richard mused.

Camille suddenly felt like they were treading on hallowed ground.

The Commissioner may have sensed it too, because he coughed at this point and announced tactfully, "Ahem... I think I shall take a little stroll around the grounds of this lovely hotel, if you don't mind. Too much cake, I'm afraid. But please, Inspector, do carry on explaining things to Sergeant Bordey. I'll be back in about half an hour."

The others stood up and said, "Yes, Sir."

Taking their seats again, Richard tentatively reached out to lightly touch Camille's arm.

Putting her hand over his, she looked at him with tears in her eyes. "You have no idea, Richard, how much... how awful it was to see you... well, not you, but you know what I mean. I thought I'd... we'd... lost you forever," she told him with quavering voice.

"I'm so sorry, Camille, I had no idea it was going to turn out like that. In fairness, I did try and advise caution to Davis. I had to brief him on how to speak to the group and the kinds of things he might be asked, not necessarily because they would be testing him (I was pretty sure that was unlikely), but simply the typical stuff people talk about after many years apart.

"Of course, he would already have been filled in back in the UK on my life story (which wasn't much), but you know, mannerisms and things are just as important to get right. In spite of being somewhat overly enthusiastic, in my opinion, he did once express a small element of concern about being recognised. Unfortunately, it was probably a throw away remark of mine that indirectly ended up getting him attacked by Helen."

"What do you mean, Richard? I know - and the Commissioner knows - that Davis's death was _not_ your fault," insisted Camille, rushing to her beloved boss's defence. "From everything I've heard, he jumped in with both feet and with eyes wide open."

Richard squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Camille, but what I was going to say was that it was my response to his comment about maybe not being whole-heartedly accepted as me that almost certainly caused him to go off-script, as it were, and put the wind up Helen Reid.

"You see, I had then made some off hand remark to the effect that he shouldn't be too concerned about not looking like my identical twin since I myself didn't think everyone in the group looked altogether convincing, either.

"It wasn't meant to be a particularly significant statement, but Davis picked up on it and kept pressing me to explain what I meant. I think that underneath all his gung-ho 007 demeanour, he was actually slightly nervous, and rightly so. These investigations should never be taken lightly and one should never underestimate the 'target'."

"So, it was Davis's idea to bring the book and confront Sasha, I mean Helen, with it?" Camille guessed.

"Yes, but I can't help thinking it was my fault for even mentioning the damn thing," spluttered Richard. "The one good thing in all this, apart from the arrest and exposure of Helen and James, is that Peter is not dead."

Camille's eyes widened. "Seriously?! You mean, he wasn't dead at the scene? Because we all thought... I mean he looked... actually, come to think of it, I didn't get all that close a look at him really, anyway," she said in reflective mode. "In fact... his eyes were closed and... oh! he wasn't wearing a proper tie, and you _always_ wear one, don't you, Richard?!" she exclaimed.

"Mm hmm. The paramedics were working for the 'powers that be', whoever they were precisely, I'm not entirely sure, but they whisked him away and he was never seen again by any of you or by the usual medical examiner or coroner, was he?"

"So, where is he, then??" asked Camille.

"Most likely air-lifted to the US by now. I understand he's off the critical list and his condition is just classed as 'serious' now. He just may pull through, thank God."

"Oh yes, thank God. I know this might sound a bit unfair, but I still can't help being glad it wasn't _you_ , Richard. It sounds like neither of you could have foreseen quite how extreme Helen's reaction would be, so you never know... But, I'm sure he couldn't have fooled any of _us_ , though."

_Because I would know you anywhere, and an imposter wouldn't fool me for two seconds._

"But you've all seen me recently, haven't you? And even when you saw him lying there injured, his eyes were closed and he wasn't speaking or walking, or doing any of those things that so often give the game away."

"Even if he had managed to 'walk the walk' and 'talk the talk', Richard, he would never have fooled me. For a start, I would know your eyes anywhere. No one could ever fool me about those..."

_Yes, your eyes and your funny lopsided smile._

She began to blush at the realisation of what she had said, of what she had revealed about her more intimate observations of him.

Just then, the Commissioner reappeared and sat down with them, whispering rather excitedly, "I've just been on the phone with... oh, I'm afraid I'm not allowed to divulge that... but suffice it to say that the doctors who have been treating Agent Davis are now quietly confident that he will survive, and possibly even make a reasonable recovery.

"The damage was less extensive than originally believed. Apparently, the scarf he was wearing as a kind of cravat covered part of his chest and that helped to blunt the impact of the ice pick. Extraordinary!"

Camille stifled a guffaw. Had it been Richard, he would probably have been wearing a conventional tie - or just possibly, no tie at all - and not had that protective barrier, albeit a very minimal one. It didn't bear thinking about...

"Now," continued Patterson, "I regret that Inspector Poole will have to remain on Guadeloupe for just a little bit longer, while the authorities in London sort out what's to happen with regard to Inspector Goodman. I gather he would now prefer to return to the UK as his wife has been very reluctant to come out to the Caribbean, but all this has to be officially signed off by the Met.

"In the meantime, though, I see no reason why you should have to hurry back to Honore station today, Camille. Why not take the rest of the day off and return at your leisure? You can report for duty tomorrow morning. But, if you will excuse me, I should be heading back to Saint Marie now.

"Inspector Poole, so good to see you again. I look forward to your imminent return as our Chief of Police. Good day to you both."

With that, the Commissioner stood up and shook both their hands as they rose to attention and responded with the customary 'Sir'.

 

"Well, Camille," said Richard, once they were on their own. "What would you like to do now?"

She thought his smile and the look in his eyes bordered on the impish and inviting, but she wasn't making any assumptions at this stage.

Linking her arm in his, she simply replied, "Let's have a wander around Pointe-a-Pitre, if you don't mind. I could teach you to read French, particularly the shop signs."

And she returned his impish grin with one of her own. A very charming Gallic one.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long gap in updating this - using a computer was difficult for quite a while.

 

As they walked arm in arm through the streets of the old town, the reality of the whole situation began to sink in with Camille in a way that had previously washed over her, probably due to the speed and extreme nature of the events, with the sudden twists and turns. Richard noticed that she had gone uncharacteristically quiet and guessed the reason.

"Are you alright, Camille? I know there's been a lot to take in, and without any previous warning," he ventured.

She sighed. "Yes, there has," she agreed. A certain amount of resentment was starting to creep up on her and she did her best to quell it. After all, she reasoned, it wasn't Richard's fault that someone had tried to kill him. But why couldn't he have trusted her with the secret about the identity switch beforehand? That way, the ice pick attack wouldn't have been quite so traumatic (although naturally she would have had a humane concern for Agent Davis).

"Are you angry with me?"

"A little, if you must know. Obviously I'm relieved that you're alright, and I know you couldn't have predicted that Helen Reid would try and attack you, but you and MI5 must have known that you were at risk of _something,_ otherwise that other man wouldn't have been sent to impersonate you in the first place. Could you not have confided in me about that, Richard? Surely you didn't suspect _me_ of being any kind of threat to your safety, did you?" she demanded a little more forcefully than even she had intended.

Richard frowned with a mixture of guilt, frustration and worry that his newfound closeness with Camille was already faltering on the rock of misunderstanding and pain.

"All I can say is that I am really sorry, Camille. It may sound feeble, but I was honestly not allowed to say a word to anyone about it, not even the Commissioner. The security guys in London were very strict about it and swore Davis and I (and even my old governor, D.C.I. Halliwell) to absolute secrecy. They did brief the Commissioner, but they wouldn't permit _me_ to do it, and there was no question of their letting me tell _you_.

"I couldn't even talk to my own parents about it; not that we're particularly close, but they might have wanted to be warned if was in danger. Please don't take any of this personally; things were well and truly out of my hands. When the security services pull rank, there's nothing that even the Metropolitan Police can do about it. If I had kicked up a fuss by insisting on confiding in a few close friends, family or associates, they might even have found a way to put me out to pasture. They definitely would have hauled me back to the UK, at any rate."

Camille looked down, now rather ashamed at her slightly petulant attitude. The days of terrible grief had turned into anger and this had begun to be wrongly directed at Richard out of sheer frustration. She decided that it would be far better to let relief and joy at his being alive and well direct her thoughts and emotions instead.

"Sorry, Richard," she replied. "I... it's just that it was so hard to... well, all of us - Dwayne and Fidel and I - found it very upsetting when we thought we had lost our favourite 'Chief', and it was not easy having to accept your replacement, even though he was entirely blameless - although he did solve the case... well, sort of. You know what I mean."

"Inspector Goodman?"

"Yes, Humphrey Goodman. And now it appears he's more or less wasted his time out here, thinking he was getting a Caribbean posting and then getting packed off back to London through no fault of his own, even if he is gamely saying he's content to go back because of his wife. I'm not too sure about that; he had hopes of her agreeing to join him in due course." The exasperation Camille felt at the complicated situation had not yet entirely dissipated.

Richard flinched a bit. Was it his imagination, or could he detect a slight stirring of jealousy in his own reaction to Camille's protestations at D.I. Goodman's (perceived) mistreatment by the powers-that-be? Jealousy was not an experience he had felt since those painful student days when he had lost Sasha to James Moore; and it was not something he had anticipated or intended having to endure ever again, hence the emotional barrier that guarded his heart.

Equally unsettling to him, though, was just why Camille's concern for such a recent colleague should rankle with him. Of course he realised that it was unfortunate how Humphrey had been misled by his bosses (on the orders of MI5), but something about the indignation she was expressing on Goodman's behalf sent a few little alarm bells ringing in Richard's head.

Just how sorry _was_ Camille to be losing the new Inspector? Was she primarily objecting to yet another change in the status quo? In other words, had her proclaimed grief over his supposed death actually been more professional than personal? Had he, Richard, got the wrong end of the stick?

Or was it really nothing to do with D.I. Goodman anyway, and that was merely a useful outlet for Camille to express all the upset that had been building up in her ever since that awful day at the villa?

Well, diplomacy may never have been Richard's strong point, but he made the decision then and there that he had better start practising it with his beautiful and much valued Sergeant if he wanted to keep her. Or, at the very least, hedge his bets and play safe.

"I know, and I feel bad about that, honestly. If you think it will help, I'm willing to recommend that Humphrey Goodman be found a post somewhere else in the Caribbean, or even here on Saint Marie if there's room for another D.I. But... if you don't mind my asking... ahem... you seem to be particularly concerned for a colleague you'd only known for a few days or weeks...?"

Camille was uncertain how to respond to the conciliatory gesture, and also a trice unnerved at Richard's unexpected ability to see through her defence mechanisms, not to mention the directness of his gentle challenge.

Aloud, she said, "That's very thoughtful of you, Richard," she said carefully. "I'm sure he would appreciate the gesture, but the Commissioner may be right after all when he says that Humphrey would rather go back to England and try and salvage his marriage. He did seem pretty cut up about his wife's refusal to fly out and join him, I must say."

So, by unspoken mutual consent, they dropped the subject and moved on to happier and more pleasant things.

 

Now that they had cleared the air a bit, Richard and Camille had only to decide what to do for the rest of the day. They chose to take the Commissioner at his word and have the whole day off; work could wait until the next day. Meanwhile, the delights of Guadeloupe beckoned and they enjoyed themselves chilling out incognito, walking along the seafront, sampling the wares at the various bars and coffee and tea shops, and admiring the impressive display goods in the shop windows.

"It's a good thing I don't live here or I'd be permanently in trouble with my credit card," joked Camille.

"Oh, I expect the novelty would soon wear off, and anyway you'd be too busy with work to do this sort of thing regularly. Today is unusual, isn't it?" suggested Richard.

"Yeah, I guess so," she conceded. _Still, I'd have gone anywhere with you._

 _I do hope this happy feeling lasts,_ thought Richard. "Let's make the most of it, then."

_And hopefully the future will be bright from now on._

 It was with a spring in their step and a new lightness in their hearts that they determined to enjoy the rest of their short time on Guadeloupe. 

 

 "Good morning, team," greeted Commissioner Patterson as he strode into the Honore Police Station two days later.

The team stood up and respectfully acknowledged his entrance.

"Good morning, Sir," they all seemed to reply in unison. Dwayne did his usual trademark salute and Humphrey looked rather nervous, as if he sensed that something relevant to him was about to be broached.

"Inspector Goodman, could I have a word, if you please?" asked the Commissioner rather inscrutably.

"Oh... uh... of course, Sir," Humphrey replied.

Patterson stepped out onto the veranda and waited for Humphrey to follow him out. The others exchanged glances but each shrugged their shoulders as if to confirm that they were in the dark about what was going on.

"Inspector," began the Commissioner, "I think it only right that you should know that Inspector Poole is... shall we say... out of danger now, and the Met, with whom I have been in almost constant touch during these recent distressing days, is due to release you shortly from your obligations to us here on Saint Marie.

"I would like to take this opportunity to thank you most sincerely for stepping in for Inspector Poole at more or less a moment's notice, and for your discretion regarding this most complex and difficult of cases."

What Patterson didn't tell Humphrey was that the man who had been attacked was not even Richard; but this whole situation was so hush-hush and fraught with continuing potential danger that both the Commissioner and the Met (not to mention MI5) were determined to operate on a need to know basis only.

Humphrey was non-plussed. "Oh... I see, Sir... well, thank you very much for letting me know. Of course, you may rely on my utmost discretion at all times, I assure you."

"Thank you, Inspector Goodman," purred the Commissioner. "Now, if I understand rightly, you would prefer to return to the UK rather than be posted to a position on one of the other islands' Police Forces, is that correct?"

"Uh well, yes Sir, I would, if that's alright. You see, much as I love it out here in the Caribbean, there are one or two important... er... personal issues... that I need to attend to back home," replied Humphrey.

Patterson knew that Humphrey was referring to his domestic difficulties, and that the latter realised the need to get back to England as soon as possible if he wanted to save his marriage.

"No problem, Inspector. I will make the necessary arrangements with London and you can be on a flight back home as soon as you are able to finish your report(s) and organise your packing. Please do let me know if I can assist you in any way," he added quite sincerely.

Humphrey smiled wistfully. He would miss Saint Marie and the Caribbean in general. It was a beautiful part of the world and they had been kind to him - if only Sally had taken to it and not insisted on 'doing her own thing' back in grey and dreary old Blighty. But his relationship with the only woman he had truly loved was more important to him than anything else, and so he was looking forward to what he hoped would be a fresh start.

 

The ferry was on time and Camille was at the dock to, as it were, kill two birds with one stone, although the idiom was perhaps a bit unfortunate given the events of recent days and weeks. Suffice it to say that she was at Honore harbour to both say her farewell to Humphrey Goodman (who, due to his general disorganisation, had managed to miss his flight from Saint Marie airport to Guadeloupe and so was obliged to catch the ferry instead) and to travel to Guadeloupe herself to grab a few hours with Richard.

"I say, Camille, it's very nice of you to come with me to Guadeloupe, but I'll be okay from here," said Humphrey, thinking rather naively that she was simply there to escort him to his flight on the larger island.

"That's alright," she replied sweetly, "I have a few things I'd like to do in town there. You know, shopping and stuff."

Humphrey nodded and smiled knowingly, assuming that all women were probably like Sally at heart with regard to shopping and a love of luxury, and the shops on Guadeloupe were impressive.

After docking at the harbour at Pointe-a-Pitre, Camille made sure Humphrey got a taxi for the short ride to the airport (with his track record, she couldn't trust him to find his own way there), and thanked him warmly for stepping into the breach when Inspector Poole had been out of action.

Then, she got into a taxi herself and alighted outside the comfortable hotel where Richard was still staying (incognito) and awaiting her arrival. She looked at her watch and smiled to herself.

Richard came down and met her in the Reception area, greeting her with a piercing green gaze and a warm embrace.

"Mm, it's good to see you, Camille. Thanks for getting away. Did the Commissioner give you the whole day off?"

"Only the afternoon, actually. I've just accompanied Humphrey on the ferry since he missed the little seaplane, and Patterson thanked me by letting me have the rest of the day to myself. He knows I wanted to see you, of course."

"Of course," said Richard sardonically. That wily old fox knew everything.

"I did promise _Maman_ that I'd pop round later on, though," Camille added.

"Okay, so that leaves us how much time?" Richard asked, and then blushed because he realised how that might have sounded.

Far from being offended, Camille felt encouraged by the question. "About three hours by my reckoning. I could catch the late afternoon ferry back to Saint Marie."

Fixing her with a slightly lopsided smile and one of the most spine-tingling looks she had ever experienced, he ventured, "Hmm, that should be enough, don't you think?"

 _Crikey, I must be getting brazen in my middle age_ , he thought to himself with a slight inward flinch. _Please don't let her be put off._

Linking her arm in his, Camille grinned and said, "Lead on, Inspector."

 


End file.
